Nothing Beside Remains

Northern Prut River, Moldova, 3409 BC

Green-Shoot shuddered as the wind raked his spiny back. The sun was near setting already. The twisting and snapping of the dead tree-spires raked his nerves still more. He was supposed to be standing watch at the edge of this dirt-hole settlement, but with this fickle wind scattering bones and debris, he could neither see nor hear. What difference did it make anyway, he consoled himself. Only the beds of dead lakes stretched out beyond him. There hadn’t even been a visitor in three years—let alone anything dangerous.

There had been a time—he’d been told—when those lake beds had been filled with sweet water and fish—whatever afish was. The Arch-Priest was always droning on about those times. Times filled with plenty. Times filled with farmers and children. Times when travelers came and went. He once even said there were as many as one hundred, hundred Settler Folk who called this wasteland home. He said it was the most prosperous place in the World!

Green-Shoot pulled up his tattered cape against the chill, to little effect. The winds were colder now. The winter came earlier. In two months’ time it would be so cold an ox could freeze if it loitered too long on the plain. He’d seen it happen, back when they’d had oxen. Some of those who had stayed here made peace with the consuming cold and chose the lingering death of the frozen ox. It was said to be a painless path to the Underworld. That’s how his mom left. And his sister after her.

Even now he could hear the Arch-Priest yammering on from the fire in the distance, some ways up-wind. No doubt he preached that the summers would return, the grass would grow green instead of being swallowed by the earth, and the Earth-Mother would bless the women with living babies. But the women, like th